Sparrow

This was Jimmy's first time in Marshalltown but not his first time at a Ramada Inn.

When they went to big cities, Mr. Sheldrake only stayed at expensive hotels, and so Jimmy stayed at expensive hotels. But the little towns didn't offer much in the way of choice, and Mr. Sheldrake hated surprises. He settled on Ramadas because they were plentiful and always had conference rooms, which is why he traveled anyway, and why Jimmy traveled.

The meeting was running long. Outside of the double doors, Jimmy rocked on his heels but his knees hurt and anyway he thought he might look silly. He was too tall, too big, too much. But his knees. Jimmy's lady friend warned him about the cold in Iowa, and the blizzards. He just hoped they wouldn't get snowed in. The first time Mr. Sheldrake saw Jimmy leaning against a wall, he asked Is that wall heavy? and Jimmy shook his head and tried to laugh it off and never leaned against a wall again.

So he stood outside of the conference room and waited for the meeting to end so everyone could see that Mr. Sheldrake had a bodyguard who was very large and Mr. Sheldrake would say that Jimmy was an ex-con, which was true, and everyone should just watch out, which was not. Nobody wanted to hurt Mr. Sheldrake anyway. Hardly anyone even knew what he looked like, except other businessmen, and they only fought by telephone. When regular people did notice him, Jimmy would step in before they could get too close. Mr. Sheldrake hated when people got too close.

Jimmy spent two years in prison and got into a lot of fights. People on the outside always say if you go to prison, find the largest guy and hit him as hard as you can so the smaller guys are intimidated and nobody messes with you in the shower. Jimmy was the largest guy everywhere he went, and was punched in the face at least once a week. He never hit back, though, because he wanted to get out on good behavior, and because he had sparrow bones inside his meaty hands. That's what his mom called them. His mom had welder’s hands. They looked like they could tighten the lug nuts of a spare tire. Jimmy didn’t know what his father’s hands looked like. He guessed they looked like his own.

He learned about his sparrow bones in the fourth grade. In a way, gym was as good a practice for prison as anything else. He’d changed into his t-shirt and shorts, and someone slammed the locker room door. There was always someone slamming the locker room door but this time a ring of shorter boys formed around him, and a short Mexican kid with spiked hair stepped forward. Jimmy didn’t know the boy’s name. The boy's nostrils flared and his jaw was rigid.

Jimmy didn’t know why the boy wanted to fight. He didn’t know why the other boys wanted the two of them to fight. Jimmy thought the other boy, the Mexican kid, didn’t know either. So Jimmy stood there, arms by his sides. The Mexican boy started bouncing on the balls of his feet like a prize fighter. Jimmy looked down at his own feet, shoeless, a sneaker in each of his hands. The shoes were worn through on the sides and wrapped with electrical tape because they were black and Jimmy thought no one would be the wiser. He was wrong. And as he worked out the mistake and felt a flush of shame, the Mexican boy drove a scrawny fist into Jimmy’s forehead. The shoes dropped, and Jimmy swatted at the boy. His hands were bigger than the Mexican boy’s head. The ring of onlookers howled and cheered. The boy fell first across a wooden bench and against a combination lock. Blood trickled down his face and dripped onto his t-shirt, onto the silkscreen gray wolf. It wasn’t Jimmy they were cheering, or the Mexican.

Later that day, when Jimmy couldn’t hold a pencil, he knew he’d broken two fingers. The school nurse wrapped them in tape, and word got around. Jimmy got beat up in the locker room.

Someone in the conference room was shouting now. Jimmy knew that it was Mr. Sheldrake. Nobody ever shouted at Mr. Sheldrake, or back at Mr. Sheldrake. It always came from one direction. Jimmy's knees throbbed. This Ramada had blue carpet. The ones out west had red carpet. The ones in the east had green. It was what people tracked in that made the difference. Crushed and grimy snow. Clay. Grass. It never came out. The footsteps never went away.

Every time someone came in from the cold, a family or the groundskeepers, a little wisp of the blizzard whipped around the corner and got to working on Jimmy. The sparrow bones in his hands were clicking now at the knuckles. His mom had had arthritis, and Jimmy knew he would get it, too. His lady, though, had long, slender fingers that never clicked.

Jimmy was twenty-three when he got arrested. He was twenty-four when they locked him up. It was his first offense, but the other lawyer had slick hair and wore suspenders, and Jimmy's lawyer had nubby fingernails like she chewed them. The judge banged his hammer and that was it. There wasn't even a trial, really, like on TV. Nobody objected or overruled or sustained or said If it pleases the court. The guys with Jimmy that night cut deals. Jimmy didn't even know you could do that, and had only met his lawyer once before the trial. She asked if he drove the car that night, and Jimmy had, and asked if he was the oldest, and he was, and asked if he knew what his friends were doing in the Circle-K, and he said he thought he did. And that was it.

His mom never visited him in prison. He called her once a week, and she said she was fine, and Jimmy said he was fine too even when he wasn’t and she said take care of yourself and he reminded her to take her pills and he said he loved her and she said she loves him too. But she never visited because she was ashamed. The last time Jimmy saw her was at the trial. The last time, she cried quietly and leaned close to a lady next to her. Not really into her, not touching. His mom didn’t know the lady. But close, for support. His mom wiped her eyes with those big welders hands and the bailiff escorted him from the room.

Inside the conference room, Mr. Sheldrake wasn’t yelling anymore, but had settled into an occasional bark. His bark, it was more pug than boxer, but a really smart pug that boxers followed around. Jimmy knew a bark meant things were OK. Mr. Sheldrake was barking about the bottled water now, which was also good. It meant business was OK too. Anyway, Jimmy’s job was to stand there, and what came after.

A chaplain at the prison told Jimmy about his mother. He was eight months into his sentence, and laying on the bottom bunk in his cell. His left eye throbbed like it might pop out of his head, and the bandages on his broken nose kept itching. He never got used to the itchy bandages. They call prison doing time but it's not really doing time. You don't do anything. You just sit, or lay, or stand most of the day. In the yard. In the showers. Meals are cafeteria style, like in school, and there are different jobs. Jimmy cleaned the bathrooms. The old guards didn't care how well you did, but the new ones always found spots that the inmates missed. Once, a new guard kicked up a toilet seat and went all over the bowl and on the floor, and told Jimmy to clean it up. But then an old guard saw what was going on and nobody ever saw the new guard again.

An old guard banged his baton on the bars, and Jimmy looked over from his cot. The chaplain wants to see you, he said, and Jimmy stood and the guard cuffed him and they walked together. Other guys in the cages jeered and howled, but they always jeered and howled and anyway Jimmy didn't really know them.

Your momma is dead, said the chaplain.

I talked to her last week, said Jimmy.

She died today.

What happened?

The chaplain put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and said Her heart gave out, and then squeezed Jimmy’s shoulder. The chaplain was short, an old man with spots on his veiny hands. His fingernails were yellow, like he smoked a lot.

She must have forgotten to take her pills, said Jimmy. I should have called and reminded her.

Your momma knew to take her pills, son, said the chaplain. This isn’t your fault.

Jimmy didn’t go to the funeral. The chaplain said You’ve got to pay your respects son, but Jimmy didn’t own a suit and didn’t know how to give a speech and anyway he should have reminded her about the pills.

His knees, it felt like they were being stabbed now. He wanted to lean on the wall but he knew the meeting would end soon. Mr. Sheldrake was always the first man out and lingered so the businessmen could ask for an autograph or a favor. During the meetings he always yelled but after the meetings he would say it was never personal. But one time Jimmy heard him say it was always personal.

After Jimmy got out, the prison worked it so Jimmy could be a janitor at a computer company. He was happy to have work because everyone in prison said ex-cons can’t get a job these days. With a salary and the money left over from his mom’s estate, he could afford to rent a small apartment. Everyone in prison said ex-cons couldn’t get apartments either so Jimmy felt very fortunate overall.

Mr. Sheldrake walked in on Jimmy one night while he was wiping down a bathroom mirror. He’d already cleaned the toilets and was about to mop. Jimmy didn’t know who Mr. Sheldrake was, but said Excuse me sir, and gathered the bucket and supplies to give Mr. Sheldrake some privacy.

You’re a giant, said Mr. Sheldrake.

Jimmy wasn’t sure what to say, so just bobbed his head.

This job sucks, said Mr. Sheldrake. Have you ever done body work?

Jimmy thought he meant lift weights, and Jimmy explained that No sir, my bones are brittle so I never lift weights. This is just how I turned out.

No, I mean have you ever been a security guard or a body guard?

Jimmy explained that the prison said this was his job now, but Mr. Sheldrake said he’d take care of that. He asked for the parole officer's name and number, and one week later Jimmy didn't have to check in anymore. Two weeks later Jimmy’s job was to follow Mr. Sheldrake around whenever he traveled.

That first trip, three years and a hundred Ramadas ago, Mr. Sheldrake said You dress like a clown. I don’t pay you to dress like a clown.

The next time, Jimmy wore his Sunday best. Mr. Sheldrake said You dress like a preacher. You’re supposed to be my body man and if you don’t start looking the part you’ll be dressed like a homeless man or an inmate.

Jimmy found a men’s shop and explained everything to the shopkeep. Well I’m your girl, she said. She measured Jimmy, but none of the suits there were big enough and they would have to order them. Jimmy explained that he didn’t have a lot of money, but she said the suits were on sale. When Jimmy came back, she said There’s my man. She rolled out a rack of clothes. Her slender fingers flicked hangers with a satisfying slap, slap, slap until she saw just the right pair of slacks. Jimmy was her man. She was his lady.

The conference room door swung inward like it was being torn from the frame. Mr. Sheldrake was a small man but knew how everything worked, and how everything could be broken. He looked Jimmy up and down. Jimmy was happy he hadn’t been leaning against the wall. The businessmen in the conference room were gathering their things, and Mr. Sheldrake looked like something was bothering him and Jimmy wasn’t sure what it was but didn’t say anything. Mr. Sheldrake’s jaw was rigid.

The other men came out with hopeful expressions on their faces, for an autograph or a word alone with Mr. Sheldrake, but Mr. Sheldrake didn’t seem interested. He barked again about the bottled water. He rocked on the balls of his feet. Jimmy’s knees were killing him and he looked down and Mr. Sheldrake looked down at Jimmy’s shoes.

Did you shine those with a chocolate bar?

Mr. Sheldrake never talked to Jimmy after meetings and Jimmy didn’t know what to say or if he was supposed to say anything or what. He’d polished his shoes that morning, but forgot about the snow outside.

One of the men asked Is this your guy? and Mr. Sheldrake said For now. Another man said He’s a real giant, and Mr. Sheldrake kept staring at Jimmy’s shoes.

Jimmy’s knees throbbed and the sparrow bones in his fingers clicked and snapped and the men kind of backed away, but kept watching in a leery circle.

Mr. Sheldrake held his stare and said He’s an ex-con and another man said No kidding? and Mr. Sheldrake said Yeah you’d better watch out around him.

What was he in for? asked another man and Mr. Sheldrake said He killed a man in a bar fight.

This wasn’t true and Jimmy didn’t know why Mr. Sheldrake would say that. Jimmy clenched his hands into slabs of fist to work out the pain.

Then Mr. Sheldrake leaned into Jimmy’s face and said I ought to have him kill a few of you. Only I doubt he’d do it right because he can’t even polish. His. Damn. Shoes.

Mr. Sheldrake poked a bony finger into Jimmy’s forehead with each word. Jimmy’s arm twitched, his open palm the size of a frying pan, but when he saw the long, slender finger that didn’t click, he relaxed his shoulders. When he got home, he would see his lady again and she would get him new shoes.

Jimmy said I’m sorry Mr. Sheldrake. I’ll get them taken care of.

Mr. Sheldrake held his stare a second longer, and turned to the next guy and said You needed a signature? and Jimmy’s knees ached but his fingers ached less.